A Long Strange Trip
by grenedine
Summary: Spike realizes that he's being manipulated, but by whom and for what dastardly purpose?Note: This story is best read with the lights off.


I sat at my desk watching the cursor blink in its rhythmic little pattern. I kept staring at it waiting to see what would happen, to see if it would jitter again as if it had a bout of tension. It blinked and did nothing. I hoped that words would magically appear so that this article could be finished and reviewed by the scum of the cyber lanes.

"Shut up," a voice growled from the shadows.

"No," I replied and kept waiting for the inspiration to appear. I chewed on the end of a black paint brush wondering what in the hell I could write about that would interest these geeks and n00bs who prowled "teh internets" looking for a cheap laugh. I could hear footsteps behind me shuffling in the inky darkness and in my drowsy state they couldn't hold my interest while the cursor of the damned was still blinking, waiting for input. The light flashed on making me jump to attention and shedding the comfortable drunkenness with a slash of fear and uncertainty. I swung at my assailant hoping to catch him with an upper cut to the jaw but missed and found my face painfully colliding with the oak floor. A stuffed bat had tangled itself between my feet. "Where the fuck did this come from," I had wanted to say but my brain had refused the connection with my vocal cords and it came out more like, "Wheeeerrrrrfugggggaggghhh." The connection with my legs had also been refused resulting in the painful staggering that one experiences after having just fallen. I was aware of my arm being used to pull the rest of myself into a comfortable if piecemeal position. Some dude with green hair wavered in and out of my vision making me even more hesitant about my establishment in reality. I tried waving him away saying that I was fine thank you and that I didn't want to order dessert. He made some sort of alien gesture waggling some fingers in front of my eyes the effect of which made my stomach want to heave. Fumbling for a nonexistent wallet I made an attempt to tip the man so he would leave me in peace when I suddenly came to the conclusion that he was not the waiter that I had demanded to see.

"Turn…the lights…off," I managed to draw out of my throat. I felt the man leave me as the darkness returned to drench the battle hardened computer and my slowly dissipating body in India ink. Breath came heavy and the liquid ambient night cradled my mind out of the nightmare that was or would be created by the electronic surfers if I didn't get this article out in time. There was some weird background noise as I made my way back to the vile blinking cursor. I think it was an incomplete voice, disembodied of course, conferring with another hoarse gravelly voice.

Voice One: She's lost it this time. There's no way it'll get written if she keeps this up.

Voice Two: Shit, Spike. We've had nothing to do for days and now look at this.

Spike: I know; it isn't even a story. Ed could've come up with something in half the time.

Voice Two: And with much less accuracy.

Me: SSShhhhhut… up. T3h cuRs0r 1s s7art1ng t0 wR1t3 som3th1ng.

Having given up control of any motor functions I let my head nod and sway as the hands which I had forgotten about began to type. As if from a great distance I heard Voice Two exclaim, "dammit Spike! She's speaking in Leet! Stop her before…"

"Too late, Jet. Already I f33l an irrational need to sp3ak using 0nly numbers and misspelled words," claimed the green haired one. Thoughts, clichés and obscure references trickled out of my brain spilling onto the illuminated screen From the blackness kissing sounds squeezed into the air followed by moaning and really uncomfortable squelchy noises. I considered that last train of thought and felt myself reach for the backspace button cringing at the growing tension as I kept missing it. Finally erasing the thought for all eternity shouts of disgust, panic and loathing were accompanied by the purifying steam of scalding water. I couldn't imagine exploring that query any further until a malicious idea came to mind aided by a particularly vicious shot of Russian vodka.

Spike sank to the tiled shower floor curling wisps of steam wilting his already drenched shirt collar. What had possessed him to do such a thing? Too shocked to properly analyze the disturbingly homosexual event he could only remove the soaked shirt from his violated body. Trying to maintain a grip on his sanity he jumped when the bath room door slammed open revealing Faye clad in chains and leather disdainfully glaring at his crumpled figure. A cat-o-nine-tails whip hung from her hand swaying with an evil intent that emanated from her very soul. Spike's heart raced pumping sour adrenaline through tense veins and frayed nerves; the keen sharpness of his mind refused to function beyond primitive survival instincts until suddenly…

Taking a sip of that effervescent vodka I sat back and let the masochist in my brain relish in the burning sensation as it eventually trailed into my overworked liver. Striking a match I lit a candle casting an eerie glow upon the desk and sending forth shadows. They did nothing to alleviate the hallucinations. I could sense a force of anger behind me raging and boiling with volatile electricity. The previously disembodied voice appeared to have gained a few physical properties because the room spun about as I remained stationary. Apparently the voice also had a face and body that radiated a livid wrath though I knew I had nothing to fear from him. He did not exist.

I took the liberty of telling him so.


End file.
